Destruction of the Destroyed
by Karikinis
Summary: Different short stories with about four Parts Each.WWII era. Each description inside. First story is about Alice and Alfred Jones-Kirkland. "Let's Say goodbye before we say hello."
1. Intro

Collection of short stories. Each story has about four parts with one,two or three points of view. The first one is the Story of Alice and Alfred Jones-Kirkland. Two heroes, each in their own way. Alfred is a war veteran just returning home to America where his lovely wife Alice Kirkland-Jones is waiting for him, with his son Earl Lester Jones. See how he tries to adapt to life again after barely getting out of war alive.


	2. Let say goodbye before we say hello

p style="margin-bottom: .25in; line-height: .25in;"span style="font-size: 13pt;"Rose :/span/p  
>p style="margin-bottom: .25in; line-height: .25in;"span style="font-size: 13pt;"Time. That was one funny concept right there. Ever since we started to measure it, we never seem to have enough. We limit the limitless, running in circles trying to make beginnings without knowing its end; yet we try to control time, and even I'll admit I have my fair share of that want; yet the wait of one is over, so another starts. A vicious cycle that never ends, Never are we satisfied with the little time we get, saying we don't have any, while we waste it on unimportant things; yet sometimes we have to do what we need to, to support our family and to maintain some stability in life.span/p  
>p style="margin-bottom: .25in; line-height: .25in;"span style="font-size: 13pt;"I look at my surroundings and I realize I've spent sunless nights and moonless days for this exact moment. To pinpoint at what exact moment I realized the wait is a desperate longing, would probably be around the time he left, and no form of communication, with the exception of a letter every blue moon, it was only adding to the excoriating pain of not knowing and not controlling. How long has it been since I last saw him? It could certainly not have been this long. It had only seemed like yesterday when he told me, yet had those days before he left really passed like minutes? Each second we are apart, every moment I am away from him, seems to prolong itself into centuries. It was unbelievable that so much had happened in such a short amount of time.span/p  
>p style="margin-bottom: .25in; line-height: .25in;"span style="font-size: 13pt;"I spent my time than waiting for him to arrive under a big sturdy tree feeling as a teenager waiting for a secret admirer, silly, flimsy, naive times. Things were much better back then, at least for me.span/p  
>p style="margin-bottom: .25in; line-height: .25in;"span style="font-size: 13pt;"An array of different faces was under the unforgiving sun, faces with their own story, their own struggles, and, as I wait, I ponder what they waiting are for, a father? A brother? A lover? My attention was caught elsewhere when I heard the cry of a young infant. My eyes connect with the sight of an infant of an approximate age of three or four years, a toddler if you may, chubby and blond, with a hat too big for his head, covering his eyes. Adorable, yet I could sense his distress.span/p  
>p style="margin-bottom: .25in; line-height: .25in;"span style="font-size: 13pt;"Anyhow, he was crying on the ground with a wooden train, split right down the middle. I do wonder how in heaven's name that happened, the split was basically perfect such an incredible fall that toy must have beheld, or what incredible strength that little boy possessed.span/p  
>p style="margin-bottom: .25in; line-height: .25in;"span style="font-size: 13pt;"Either his mother or caretaker made the motion to carry and console the young child, cheer him up after the loss of a toy. In a way he reminded me of little Earl Lester, my little boy of one year of age, the splitting image of his father, if you ask me. At the moment his was the only presence I longed for, in my arms to calm me; he was the only reassurance that I still had a part of Alfred with me. Despite all odds. Though I longed for that small reassurance, a small spark of hope, I knew that I wanted to enjoy as much time alone with Alfred as I possibly could muster, also the fact that Alfred probably would not take well to seeing an infant right now.span/p  
>p style="margin-bottom: .25in; line-height: .25in;"span style="font-size: 13pt;"Alfred came for two weeks around two years ago. Two weeks after two years of not seeing him was simply not enough, not enough time to miss him, to hug him, to remember every detail of every inch of his body, every nook and cranny, every line adorning his face, not enough to stare into his eyes and have silent conversations that we perfectly understood between ourselves, our own little silent language. He was my everything and, quite honestly, I do not think I could live a whole life without him; he was a part of me, an irreplaceable piece of the puzzle that made me up. With a bittersweet thought, I remembered suddenly that our fourth wedding anniversary would be coming soon. I should really plan a big bash for him.span/p  
>p style="margin-bottom: .25in; line-height: .25in;"span style="font-size: 13pt;"We did send letters to each other every now and then. I got his I'm not sure if he ever did get mine... Well the ones I sent to him. Alfred was lucky enough to become a higher-ranking officer, not an extremely important role, but high enough to have some privileges. I think he was either a sergeant or something along those lines; all I knew is that he is a middle rank, and honestly, I am proud of him, of his solider status. He was not a higher commissioned officer; he had almost no binds to tie him to the army whatsoever any longer. What I do wonder is what rank he was in the air force. If he could come here for a few days, he had to be a higher rank than his army ranks. Yet, I know I will probably restrain myself from asking him. I wish the least amount of bad memories, and could not bear the thought of me causing one.span/p  
>p style="margin-bottom: .25in; line-height: .25in;"span style="font-size: 13pt;"I sighed as I waited for the show to start, so that the planes could land, so his plane could land. Shifting in my heels, my current outfit had me wishing I had my red flowered dress and sneakers, yet I had worked earlier and did not have time to go and change home; the consequences being that I was stuck in this tight skirt and blazer that was "work friendly" for the office. I would rather be wearing the odd utility suit I had used as a mechanic; it was much looser than this restricting outfit, yet, I am thankful for where I work now, because becoming a mechanic is extremely dangerous. The war propaganda really had its effects as most middle class women, and women who did not have parents (such as me) to pay for them anymore, had to work in jobs that my mother would disapprove. My eyes flutter to my left hand, the one I almost chopped off fixing a plane's engine, which went to show that men were fit to have these jobs. Women had the skills of course to do these jobs, yet they were simply dangerous. Nobody should do those types of jobs, yet when money is needed, you would do just about anything.span/p  
>p style="margin-bottom: .25in; line-height: .25in;"span style="font-size: 13pt;"I sighed and looked up at the sky waiting to see the array of planes, but the sky was as clear and cloudless as it was five minutes ago. I looked back down and stare at my hands as though they would ever have the answers to all my questions. How would I ever tell Alfred why we had to be delayed in Nevada? Our apartment in New York was still intact, yet since I had to transfer to Nevada for a year, they had given me a small house since I had a son. How would Alfred react to not going home immediately? Would Alfred still be the same as before? Would Alfred come back?span/p  
>p style="margin-bottom: .25in; line-height: .25in;"span style="font-size: 13pt;"I had not gotten the mist of a death or of Missing-in-Action, yet one could still worry.span/p  
>p style="margin-bottom: .25in; line-height: .25in;"span style="font-size: 13pt;"I decided that my worrying would not do anything to calm my jumpy nerves, so I to sit down and prop myself against the tree and close my eyes to try to relax, the calming dark calling me, screaming my name of relentless sleep to come and hide in its abyss of blissful oblivionspan/p  
>p style="margin-bottom: .25in; line-height: .25in;"∞p  
>p style="margin-bottom: .25in; line-height: .25in;"span style="font-size: 13pt;"I woke up with a start when I heard the extremely loud cheering, the crowds having multiplied with the spectacle happening overhead. I felt the corners of my lips turn upwards involuntarily with one word in mind, Alfred. I pushed myself through the crowd; my mission was being in the front, ignoring the protest of the people and the etiquette shoved into my head since I was a little girl. As I got to the front, I looked up and watched and laughed in amazement, as would a child, knowing my Alfred was somewhere in there. The marvel of planes swooshing in the blue sky, it was providing a sort of candy to the mind, absolutely hypnotic.span/p  
>p style="margin-bottom: .25in; line-height: .25in;"span style="font-size: 13pt;"Soon enough the show concluded and the planes landed. They had really gone all out with this spectacle, the array of planes, and their maneuvers. Yet my eyes sought desperately for a red plane with the name "Ghost," printed on its side. When I found it my eyes never left it, following it until it was out of sight, my smile being here than before. A warm feeling filled my chest and filled me up to my fingertips. The warm feeling of happiness that I had long forgotten, the warmth of love that I had missed, replaced the cold disdain ofspan/p  
>p style="margin-bottom: .25in; line-height: .25in;"span style="font-size: 13pt;""Alfred" I murmured as though enchanted, enticed. The crowd dissipated, just as the ever presence of the overhead planes; the sky was turning a light shade of pink, leaving family and friends waiting again. After what seemed like another eternity, I finally saw him with a bomber jacket and slacks. When he was close enough I opened the gate separation us (ignoring my now blaring conscious nagging me about proper behavior, oh what would my mother say?) and ran to him as fast as my legs would carry me. I practically tackled him since I guess he wasn't prepared, but his warm arms encircled me. I enjoyed his embrace. I got up off him as he chuckled and I kissed him with a passion and urgency that had been kept restrained for almost three years. As we separated I heard the wolf whistles of the remaining pilots ever so present in my ears, and the oxygen in my lungs became lacking, I looked at him and told him with all seriousness, "If you ever and I mean ever, and EVER leave again, I will cut you in half!"span/p  
>p style="margin-bottom: .25in; line-height: .25in;"span style="font-size: 13pt;"He laughed and kissed my cheek, "Missed you too Maple Bentz." I hugged him tighter as he used his pet name for me and let myself go, content with being in his arms once again. The despair of his imaginary death away from my mind, once again replaced with the warm loving embrace of love.span/p  
>p style="margin-bottom: .25in; line-height: .25in;"span style="font-size: 13pt;"Alfredspan/p  
>p style="margin-bottom: .25in; line-height: .25in;"span style="font-size: 13pt;"As I rolled to my side I admired my wife as she slept, noticing just how much she had changed in the past year. To be blunt she looked older than when I left her…twenty-four years of age, I left her at the age of twenty. The notion of time escaped my mind, who needs time? What happened to time? Time was what made an ignorant bliss and the intelligent bilious.span/p  
>p style="margin-bottom: .25in; line-height: .25in;"span style="font-size: 13pt;"She also looked tired, but that can come with the work she got, (a secretary for a factory place?), something along those lines. I also know we have a son, he was born and I was not there, I have not been his father for the first year of his life. There was no doubt in my mind that he wasn't mine, he was the exact splitting image of me.span/p  
>p style="margin-bottom: .25in; line-height: .25in;"span style="font-size: 13pt;"There were so many things that I still cannot get my head around, not being in the war anymore, having a house, a son, a wife. It would be a lie if I said there came a moment I did not remember Rose, I would never dare tell her because she would have my head; but once out in the war field seeing men, friends, comrades being shot down left and right, dodging bullets, wondering if there is a god out there and, if so, why he is making us suffer. You forget how to forgive, how to show compassion, you forget what love actually is. Without Rose in my arms, I would think this is some weird twisted dream. I am almost expecting the commanders' yell or the blaring alarm to wake me up. To be calm is a privilege, one I lost almost four years ago when I enlisted in the army. I do not regret my decision, I have protected my country from invasion, yet with war, you have so much to lose and you end up with so little. It has been four months since I was in that snow hell, running and shooting. You do not think you just shoot the bastards.span/p  
>p style="margin-bottom: .25in; line-height: .25in;"span style="font-size: 13pt;"I lay awake here, wishing for the wonder that is sleep, hoping that somehow I can erase the memories of the deceased, wiping away the questions, to which I have no answers. I know I am okay; I have passed all those military tests Russian survivors have had to take. I am sane, and I am convinced that much. The crazy ones are put into a mental asylum, I am not crazy, and I will not be put into a mental asylum. I am a father, a husband and the head of a family. I am not crazy.span/p  
>p style="margin-bottom: .25in; line-height: .25in;"span style="font-size: 13pt;"Rose showed me our son; he seemed like a peppy lad, still a year old with the ingenuity of innocence. I don't think I will ever grow accustomed to the fact that I have a son. I made a son with Rose, and how could something so innocent and so pure come from a killing machine such as me. I have been with him for the past week. The initial celebration of me home has passed. Rose had work, and I was left alone with Earl Lester, with written instructions on his daily routine. I was horrified she left me with him. My best guess would be that she wanted to make up for the time I lost with him, and she cancelled the nanny for a week. I tried to convince her that her decision was a big mistake, yet being ornery as she is she insisted that her plan was fool proof. Needless to say, she came back home to a crying baby, mushed veggies all over the kitchen, and me trying to put out a curtain on fire. She called the nanny that night and ordered me to be on grocery duty, and only grocery duty, her fear for the living room curtain on fire was shared. I appreciate her trying to incorporate me back into their lives and she is trying, to see Rose struggling was like seeing a double rainbow.span/p  
>p style="margin-bottom: .25in; line-height: .25in;"span style="font-size: 13pt;"I remember when we dated, the year was 1936, I was a sixteen-year-old son of a rich businessperson, and she was the daughter of a rich British banker. Investments were made and so was an arrangement. My father gave a third the portions of his earnings to the banker while that banker promised to protect him so his business never failed. They arranged for us to marry, ensuring that that trade would always be effective. This arrangement was made before I could even talk, which was not uncommon at the time. They never kept us together in a same room for long, we would see each other and I thought she was a bit queer brunette with her hair up, green eyes, always shorter than me, her hair always up. Then the time I was around twelve, they took her away from any and every social event, making me wonder why they had taken her away. I saw the result two years later when I saw the change; she changed from a girl to a young woman, who had me entranced at the first glimpse.span/p  
>p style="margin-bottom: .25in; line-height: .25in;"span style="font-size: 13pt;"I was fifteen and certainly, ordinary for a person of my status and wealth, but even If I wasn't the smoothest with women, I had never stuttered until the day I tried to talk to her. My nervousness caused me to come off as arrogant, a trait I never understood in people. I don't remember exactly what I told her, but I remember infuriating her. Her face was flushed and she gave me a quick yet proper, well deserved slap to the face. From that day, I was curious about her. No other women dared to lay her hands on a man in an aggressive form, well at least in my spam of knowledge. From that day on, she entranced me, though all I wished was that she wasn't just another rich ditzy daddy's girl who only cared about appearances and money. It took me about a month for her to actually stop glaring at me from across the room and talk. It was fairly easy since her parents always came over and started to talk with my parents. After three months we were pretty chummy and I could tell she was relaxing around me, she made my days so bright and happy.span/p  
>p style="margin-bottom: .25in; line-height: .25in;"span style="font-size: 13pt;"About a year after we became friends I started to actually to court her, our parents (mine for some odd reason, were a tad bit more) thrilled about us dating. Cinemas, dinners and house parties… life was pretty amazing with her in it. Then the great depression hit us.span/p  
>p style="margin-bottom: .25in; line-height: .25in;"span style="font-size: 13pt;"You see our family sold car engines wholesale, with a low economy, no one was buying cars, and without car manufacturing, we slowly went out of business. We did not completely leave, but we had to pause production. The money loss was great, since we had to let many workers go and our bills were off the roof. Rose's dad was visiting more and more and we both knew what was wrong. I was broke; we could not be kept in their social circle anymore.span/p  
>p style="margin-bottom: .25in; line-height: .25in;"span style="font-size: 13pt;"Don't get me wrong we still had a bit of money left but that was to pay Rose's father. Her father was a respected man among his colleagues and that isn't because he was friendly. It was his history of taking money from people, not matter their history together.span/p  
>p style="margin-bottom: .25in; line-height: .25in;"span style="font-size: 13pt;"We were basically broke. I knew Rose would be forced to leave me. I knew Rose would be forced to leave because I was broke; I was not right for a woman with her wealth to be with a poor man. How would she live? She herself has admitted that she would be at loss without her money. It was her lifestyle and the way she was raised. My father decided we should sell our houses in the suburbs and rent a room of our town house. That meant moving back to the city and away from Rose. Surprisingly though, her parents also decided to move into the city, her father had been upgraded to a more pretentious job as a co-founder of a new little bank. Little did I know it had to do with their previous engagement? Her family was blooming while ours was struggling to with food every day. I still went to school, and that was partially Rose's and my father's job since my father still paid him a third of his earnings.span/p  
>p style="margin-bottom: .25in; line-height: .25in;"span style="font-size: 13pt;"Once finished high school I go on early acceptance, graduated university with honors, and immediately was accepted into a business company, stockholding. I know for a fact that my father and Rose's father had something to do with that since it was hard to find a decent job during the time. I was one of the lucky ones to get a good education and a high paying job, and all of this by the time I was nineteen. I was no genius that was for sure, yet I did know my way around stocks and business management.span/p  
>p style="margin-bottom: .25in; line-height: .25in;"span style="font-size: 13pt;"At the time, I was still dating Rose and once I got my first paycheck I bought Rose a ring and asked her to marry me. I spent almost all my paycheck on that day but the for the smile on her face It was worth it Rose never did struggle with working or having little money, so her working now was a huge surprise to say the least. As a married couple, we were happy without lives. Even though she had stopped talking to her parents after she knew the fact that they were planning on marrying her to a man called Richard Evans, who she detested with her soul.span/p  
>p style="margin-bottom: .25in; line-height: .25in;"span style="font-size: 13pt;"The war propaganda came in a little after my twenty-second birthday, we heard the news of Pearl Harbor, and it was a tragedy to our nation. Most of our newfound friends had enrolled in the war to support the nation against the axis. I also enrolled as a solider though not because of everyone; it was a family tradition for the men of the family to participate in helping in our homeland. Rose was furious at my decision, least not for the money though for the stupidity of risking my life in war. She tried to convince me with saying that our life in New York was well, it would be an extreme sacrifice to leave it all, asking me how she would survive if I died. Yet I knew she would be fine, how right had I been?span/p  
>p style="margin-bottom: .25in; line-height: .25in;"span style="font-size: 13pt;"However, she was also right, as always, but my pride was to go to war. A stupid pride that now keeps me up at night thinking of all the bloodshed. I try not to remember war. I won't remember. I am not crazy. I am sane. I am safe. I tried to sleep, yet the bloody bits of war kept me up.span/p  
>p style="margin-bottom: .25in; line-height: .25in;"span style="font-size: 13pt;"Rose:span/p  
>p style="margin-bottom: .25in; line-height: .25in;"span style="font-size: 13pt;"Time progressed and I saw changes in Alfred. The joy of having him back home had started to fade a long time ago and I wonder if he was the same husband who left to go to war. He used to be a cheerful man, such an optimistic even though the times were tough. Now he barely leaves the room without mumbling something about he didn't deserve something. I have had little to no time to worry about him since my job has been getting more complicated with people coming in to ask for jobs and female workers redrawing from work since they had husbands to attend. I was the company director left hand; everything that went to him had to go through me first. I had to admit paperwork was hell, and I didn't have time to worry about Alfred anymore.span/p  
>p style="margin-bottom: .25in; line-height: .25in;"span style="font-size: 13pt;"Then one faithful day I came back home, everything was calm and quiet and it wasn't anything out of the common, and then came a loud a crash from the kitchen. The first thing that came to mind is that Earl Lester could be hurt, so I ran to the kitchen terrified. Yet to my surprise, I found an empty bottle of Vodka and an extremely intoxicated Alfred. I found him chatting with an empty high chair swinging a pan around. "You know little guy I am an excellent cook! I will make you scrambled eggs in a jiffry!" He slurred as he put the pan on the stove, which was thankfully off, opened the fridge to pull out an egg, and threw it in the pan. I watched in horror as he grabbed a spatula and started to "fry" the egg in the cold pain getting frustrated, as it didn't cook. He started to yell at the egg and almost threw the pan across the room "heavens the mess it would've made and I would have been obligated to clean raw egg from the wall.span/p  
>p style="margin-bottom: .25in; line-height: .25in;"span style="font-size: 13pt;"I did what any reasonable women would do. I coaxed him into bed with another bottle of alcohol, the promise of food and wait until they feel asleep. Thankfully, Alfred complied quickly slurring about angels and demons and eggs. Sadly enough though, it wasn't the lasts time he were to be in this state. Apparently, Alfred started to pick up the habit of leaving our son with the elderly couple next door and then start to drink away his memories. The first night I was out of my mind trying to find our son. Thankfully, since the Margret, our elderly neighbor heard the ruckus calms down and brought him back. She told me I was lucky that Alfred was in his right mind to keep the baby out of the house while he drank and that I shouldn't worry, it was part of becoming a veteran.span/p  
>p style="margin-bottom: .25in; line-height: .25in;"span style="font-size: 13pt;"As days collided into weeks and weeks into months, I realized Alfred and I had to have a talk, he was border lining an alcoholic, and he was starting to worry me. I decided on a Friday, that way we had all weekend and I sent Margret, her husband and Earl on a weekend trip to out New York town house. I didn't know how he would react so I thought it would be best for them to not witness if things got hasty. I even left early at work because when I got home Alfred was usually drunk. At midday on the dot, I left my desk, bid my farewell to my boss, and left towards my house. I took the bus and tried to prepare myself to what I would actually tell him. It wasn't as though I had dealt with people being drunk before, ever in my life. My father was too immersed in work to ever drink leisurely and my mother said it made you fat. Personally, I had never in my life seen Alfred drink anything other than wine or beer, yet he never even got tipsy with them, nor was I a heavy drinker.span/p  
>p style="margin-bottom: .25in; line-height: .25in;"span style="font-size: 13pt;"I sighed at the short ride back home and soon enough I was opening the front door to our house and calling out his name. I heard no answer, so I decided to check our bedroom; he was probably still hangover from yesterday. I sighed as I saw the lump on the bed, completely silent. Alfred was a passive drunk so he usually just cried or stared into the wall asking questions that I had little to no knowledge about. I shook him softly awake and wasn't expecting to be thrown across the bed, thankfully landing on my side of the mattress. I let out a groan of pain, as his grip was strong, and slowly peeked up at him through my now messed up hair. He was staring at his hands, looking terrified and I wondered just exactly, how bad he was to attack like that.span/p  
>p style="margin-bottom: .25in; line-height: .25in;""span style="font-size: 13pt;"Alfred? Honey, it's all right… it's just me Rose… your wife. We have been married for some years now. Are you okay?" I decided to say, feeling that he might have needed that extra reassurance. Yet he just stared at me, though he didn't recognize me, which terrified me to the core.span/p  
>p style="margin-bottom: .25in; line-height: .25in;""span style="font-size: 13pt;"Rose?" he finally said looking at me "Oh! Rose I am so sorry!" He crawled over to me and looked me over to see if he had hurt me badly.span/p  
>p style="margin-bottom: .25in; line-height: .25in;"–"span style="font-size: 13pt;"I'm fine." I said, slowly sitting up. "How's the hangover?" I asked looking at him curiously. He just shook his head and gave his trademark smilespan/p  
>p style="margin-bottom: .25in; line-height: .25in;"span style="font-size: 13pt;"-"I don't get hangovers. That's the only other good thing about drinking." He said as he tried to get off the bed and fell.span/p  
>p style="margin-bottom: .25in; line-height: .25in;"span style="font-size: 13pt;"-"Aspirin and Tomato juice." I stated as she helped him get up. He nodded and I softly took his hand and led him to the kitchen. I peeked at him quickly as I took his hand and saw him give a small smile, I guess since I was always busy I forgot to show affection to him. He sat in 0the counter as I poured him a tall glass of canned tomato juice (The only thing I have found use for is his hangovers, the good thing is that canned goods last much more than our rationalized food), and gave him a small tablet to reduce the pain. He took them without much complaint and I never broke our gaze. "You do know we need to talk about the drinking right?" I said softly, yet firmly not going to accept no for an answer. He sighed and nodded, and never in my life had I ever wished to read someone's mind as much as I did his in that moment.span/p  
>p style="margin-bottom: .25in; line-height: .25in;"span style="font-size: 13pt;"-"What do you want to know?" He asked never once leaving my gaze, his tone firm all the warmness it had held moments ago was gone. I looked at him wanting him to answer every burning question at the tip of my mind. I wanted to know what happened to him, what made him change. What happened to the old him, if he still loved me? Why was he drinking such strong drinks? Nevertheless, I found the perfect question simple yet complex and it would resolve so much.span/p  
>p style="margin-bottom: .25in; line-height: .25in;"span style="font-size: 13pt;"-"What happened to you during the war?"span/p  
>p style="margin-bottom: .25in; line-height: .25in;"span style="font-size: 13pt;"Alfred:span/p  
>p style="margin-bottom: .25in; line-height: .25in;"span style="font-size: 13pt;"My mind was still hazy after all the drinking I did last night. I don't know what happened halfway through the drinks yet that was its purpose, total oblivion for even a moment. To get a slice of heaven you needed a lifetime of hell, the burning liquid down my throat was the hell, the hangover was hell, and the slowly growing necessity of the liquid was its own hell all over again. My little slice of amazing heaven was the moments of incredibly sweet oblivion, the memories washed away with my self-integrity.span/p  
>p style="margin-bottom: .25in; line-height: .25in;"span style="font-size: 13pt;"I knew I had a family to maintain, people who depended on me, people who needed me to be sane. Yet I couldn't do it, the pain was unbearable, I knew I was a grenade, just sitting there just waiting to explode and destroy everything in my path. Rose should have just said goodbye before she said hello, goodbye to who I once was before she said hello to the broken man I am now. Sometimes I wonder if she would have been better off if I died during the war, maybe she would have absolutely no need to support a dead weight hell she could find a man who was actually sane... no I meant who isn't in need of such methods to forget the past, I am sane, I am safe, I am not crazy.span/p  
>p style="margin-bottom: .25in; line-height: .25in;"span style="font-size: 13pt;"I looked at my hands and the small scars that adjoined them, each scar had its own little story. When I shot a gun, when I scratched myself taking the pin from a grenade, those stories weren't cute; they were stories of pain, which potentially destroyed lives, stories that didn't make me at all proud.span/p  
>p style="margin-bottom: .25in; line-height: .25in;"span style="font-size: 13pt;"-"…gene? Alfred? Are you okay?" Her voice lured me out of my trail of thought.span/p  
>p style="margin-bottom: .25in; line-height: .25in;"span style="font-size: 13pt;"-"Are you sure you want to know?" I asked ignoring he previously asked question.span/p  
>p style="margin-bottom: .25in; line-height: .25in;"span style="font-size: 13pt;"-"Do I want to know about your wellbeing or about war honey?"span/p  
>p style="margin-bottom: .25in; line-height: .25in;"span style="font-size: 13pt;"-"About the war." I could see my simple answer infuriated her.span/p  
>p style="margin-bottom: .25in; line-height: .25in;"span style="font-size: 13pt;"-"I need to know, I need to know the reason why you've become so stoic. The reason why you've become what you are now." I chuckled as she wildly threw her arms about.span/p  
>p style="margin-bottom: .25in; line-height: .25in;"span style="font-size: 13pt;"-"I just wanted to make sure you were positive about it, no need to throw a fit maple leaf." I smiled lightly at her soft glare and started to tell my story.span/p  
>p style="margin-bottom: .25in; line-height: .25in;"span style="font-size: 13pt;"The first party of my story is not really important; it was just training and evaluations to see if you were fit to be on the home front. However, I did tell her everything I was thinking about, which at first was mostly her and home. Most high commissioned officers took a liking towards my focused attitude and ease with most activities, such as shooting. Their respect gave me permission to skip out on activities I did not want to do such as cleaning the kitchen (Something all Soldiers had to do). We were stationed in some part of England to train, which while my stance there, was an extremely dreadful country, starting by their weather.span/p  
>p style="margin-bottom: .25in; line-height: .25in;"span style="font-size: 13pt;"I told her about all the young fellas who wanted to be part of the war; they were the ones who had it the roughest. Most men either sneered at them or completely ignored them, in the sense to make them feel as though they didn't exist. I didn't tell her how I treated them, either one is bad or I am ashamed. I never did talk nor help them out, I should have, but it is too late to repent the past. In some way, I felt as though I could relate to them, yet seeing as I was older I knew better than to kill the few chances I had.span/p  
>p style="margin-bottom: .25in; line-height: .25in;"span style="font-size: 13pt;"Most other Things during training weren't important; I just gave her some highlights. They were mostly how to throw grenades, how to shoot properly, and some off training hand-to-hand combat. I also told her about our first fight against the Germans.span/p  
>p style="margin-bottom: .25in; line-height: .25in;"span style="font-size: 13pt;"At this point, we were stationed in Italy. A beautiful country with such a beautiful sight and despite their being an ongoing war, the place was intact. Yet the town we were stationed at was some sort of infirmary, so we met many Italian and American Nurses. (At this point Rose glared at me, I reassured her most talked to me because of the way I spoke so highly of her. They were smitten at the fact I was so in over with here and how I would tell our story. Which I could understand is pretty romantic to some, yet I will never understand why they loved it so much).span/p  
>p style="margin-bottom: .25in; line-height: .25in;"span style="font-size: 13pt;"I can't remember the first town we were stationed at, somewhere in southern Italy, yet we were trying to help the Italian revolutionaries. Most were displease with the fact their governor choose to side with the Axis and wanted to free themselves from Germany. We won that first fight, giving the town back to its people. The europium of wining was high in the air for the next two to three battles. We all felt invincible, until we lost our first battle. I lost half of my troop and I was traumatized at how they died. I did the wrong thing to get close to them. Once you know the people you are fighting with, it makes it much harder to let them go. When they rounded us who managed to get away with our lives, they sent us to a new troop. In this, I made sure not to make any friends, acquaintances were all you needed to get by. This continued on for about a year. We went from Italy to France, yet I was mostly stationed at Italy. We were back in North Italy when a pilot died because of unknown reasons, and since the only friend that had survived my first troop turned out to be a pilot, when training he would always tell me about flying and how flying a plane was so liberating. I knew how to fly a plane; my father had insisted I learn. He knew this and offered me a test drive. If I did well I could replace the dead pilot since an important battle was coming up. I accepted his offer. Flying did always give me a certain type of freedom.span/p  
>p style="margin-bottom: .25in; line-height: .25in;"span style="font-size: 13pt;"He went up in the plane with me (I didn't give her the name because it would be futile, she wouldn't know the difference between that one and any normal plane. Let's call it a two rider plane), and he instructed which maneuvers to do, and I accomplished them with excellence. It came back easily, knowing how to be up in the sky. We flew across green fields and such blue skies, the mountains and hills; I knew it was a sight almost anyone would die to see, it was a shame they could not experience it.span/p  
>p style="margin-bottom: .25in; line-height: .25in;"span style="font-size: 13pt;"We went around for a few hours before the fuel hit its half mark, fuel is a very valuable thing, and wasting it was something that would get the pilot in trouble. This being said we went back to the landing stripe and my friend took care of the rest. A few days before the battle he told me, the officials wanted to see for themselves if I could qualify to be a pilot. I passed the test with excellence and was given my very first plane, its previous owner had named it Betsy, I renamed it the Maple Hill, just to have some sort reminder of my wife. The Maple Hill lasted me a while, around five months. Maple tree needed matnience frequently so they decided to get me a new plane, a red plane.span/p  
>p style="margin-bottom: .25in; line-height: .25in;"span style="font-size: 13pt;"My glory days were as a pilot, everyone knew me. My plane was always there appearing out seemingly nowhere, especially in rough battles. I was called "Ghost" because attackers would never see where I was or where I came from. It was quite easy to hide yourself in the clouds if you knew how to. I called my plane the Ghost, so the enemy would know who hit them. I took down many Nazi planes, and saved most of my comrade. That lasted a year and a half before a German pilot known as "Gelbes Kuken" (Roughly translated to Yellow Chick, which for me was a weird name for a fearsome pilot) took down my left wing. I managed to escape and get back to camp. Turns out, I walked around five miles with a concussion and some broken ribs, just to get back to camp. It was nothing to major for me. The only thing that I knew was the fact that I had managed to take down his friend, the Gelbes Kuken backup.span/p  
>p style="margin-bottom: .25in; line-height: .25in;"span style="font-size: 13pt;"When I returned injured my superiors decided that should go back to the homeland with some other men to get new plane parts and spend some time with my wife. They said it was a miracle that I had survived; I earned even more respect than I had back at base camp.span/p  
>p style="margin-bottom: .25in; line-height: .25in;"span style="font-size: 13pt;"Those two weeks in homeland, I was with Rose, enjoying this vacation before I was shipped back to war. That little two-week vacation helped me out for another few months that I continued to be a pilot. The last month I was a pilot I managed to get "Gelbes Kuken," which after his interrogation I leaned was actually Leon Hartmann. I don't know what brought me to talk to him, probably the face that he was the only man alive who could take my plane down. I learnt so much after him. Not only about Leon, yet about the war in general.span/p  
>p style="margin-bottom: .25in; line-height: .25in;"span style="font-size: 13pt;"Leon Hartmann was twenty-five, the same age I was at the time. He had joined the Nazi party because of his father; though he told me it was so they wouldn't make his younger brother, Lutz, leave his studies. Though Leon didn't seem like a perfect Aryan (he had brown hair and blue eyes, he looked more American than German), he still decided to go to war instead of his brother. He was first stationed in Italy, before the Resistencia started getting strong. There he met a girl, Rose (All-e-che a nurse I had met when I was stationed there with my first troop. She would always ask about Rose and me, she reminded me of a little sister I never had), and feel in love with her. He was twenty and she was seventeen, and he wanted to go back to her the moment he wasn't a Nazi solider anymore. He didn't want to be feared or be held against because of his past. He would rather be pronounced dead, that way he could reinvent himself. He told me he disagrees that this is the way his government should solve their problems. In some way, he reminded me of Rose and me, in the way he was just fighting to get back to the one who he loves. I learnt that maybe there weren't so many bad faces in this war.span/p  
>p style="margin-bottom: .25in; line-height: .25in;"span style="font-size: 13pt;"I came to decision to help him go all the way back to that small town in northern Italy, with casual clothes and a new identity. I waited to make sure he wasn't actually lying to get out of prison, yet seeing the door open and saw the Rose's face of disbelief; I knew it was all worth it. Every single word he had stated was true. I left the two lovebirds and went back to camp. I did not go unpunished, that was a fact. I had a talk with my commander. Everyone knew I helped Leon leave, and even though I was valued member, I helped the enemy escape. They revoked my pilot title, and didn't blame me of treason. They told me they would send me to the Soviet. I was thankful at the moment that I would not be killed for treason, yet I never knew what would be waiting for me all the way in the border of Russia.span/p  
>p style="margin-bottom: .25in; line-height: .25in;"span style="font-size: 13pt;"Russia was the place that no man dared go. It was definition of Hell there; if you didn't die, you were truly a survivor. If you didn't die in the hands of another, someone died in your hands. If you didn't die from shock, you died from hyperthermia. I lost all hope in the last few months before the war ended. You just forgot what it was to be human, to show compassion or humanity. I was a killing machine with no end time. Some Russians saw me with respect because I didn't die within a week as most foreigners did. German soldiers lasted somewhat more; they had to unless they wanted to be put in the dreadful concentration camps. However, I do think that was better than these conditions.span/p  
>p style="margin-bottom: .25in; line-height: .25in;"span style="font-size: 13pt;"On the last few days of war, the Russians took me along to free a concentration camp. I remember just liking being further from the snow. The good thing was that nothing affected me. I no longer felt anything other than relief. That would change with time, yet it did take time to get used to feeling again. I later heard that the last fight in that front killed almost everyone. I had survived by a miracle.span/p  
>p style="margin-bottom: .25in; line-height: .25in;"span style="font-size: 13pt;"Once I was, we arrived in the concentration camp all I could see were walking cadavers, bones and dirk and skin. I thought I had gone crazy and was seeing the dead, well living. It certainly wasn't a sight for the lightheaded, though it wasn't something I hadn't already seen. Many people were in no conditions to live, and it was surprising to see them even walking. I saw some other soldiers give people food and water. I just stared at them. As I stated before, being in Russia changes a man.span/p  
>p style="margin-bottom: .25in; line-height: .25in;"span style="font-size: 13pt;"Around a day afterword, I got a call from my old commander. They were planning on doing something to make the Germans finally official surrender. We were going to bomb the city of Dresden. They said that if I did this I would be forgiven for my crimes, no repercussions, it were, as almost I never helped anyone. While telling Rose this infuriated me, I suffered around half a year in the Soviet; I had to steal clothing off of dead men just so I could survive. All so, I wouldn't be charged with treason. Yet as always, there was fine print.span/p  
>p style="margin-bottom: .25in; line-height: .25in;"span style="font-size: 13pt;"I accepted the job without another choice. Yet I now regret it deeply. I had just thought it was a small city and one day. It was three days of pure bombing, no mercy. We killed hundreds, if not thousands. I later learnt that not were there only American planes, yet also British and some French. Germany gave up seeing as we were killing most of its population. I was kept a few more weeks than the rest to see if I was actually not a psychopath. I just needed a bit of civilization to become civilized again. Ironic isn't it? The rest was now the present and now we are in the now; talking about the past, I am so willing to forget.span/p  
>p style="margin-bottom: .25in; line-height: .25in;"span style="font-size: 13pt;"Rose was silent for a long time after I told her everything. I was perfectly calm for one thing. I could see her trying to process everything. It was too much to take in. I knew it was. Yet I just had to wait and see.span/p  
>p style="margin-bottom: .25in; line-height: .25in;"span style="font-size: 13pt;"She slowly got up and left wordlessly. I looked at her and sighed. I knew this was too much. Yet after a good few minutes she came back with a stern face, she had disappeared into our bedroom and came out with a new bag. She touched my cheek and whispered something in my ear. She walked out the door and I didn't know if she would come back, somewhere deep inside I knew she wasn't. Yet what she said it was something. Something that would have me forever wondering, a phrase that I would spend nights thinking over, "Let's goodbye before we say hello."span/p 


	3. Fire in the Void

p style="margin-bottom: .25in; line-height: .25in;"span style="color: #555555;"span style="font-size: 13pt;"The Fuel/span/span/p  
>p style="margin-bottom: .25in; line-height: .25in;"span style="color: #555555;"span style="font-size: 13pt;"He felt as though this world has reached a point where this world's madness was nothing but his own insanity. He was Hitler's ideal man, the perfect Aryan model, up to the dot. Yet that hadn't helped him at all. He was still medical student, still studying, when he should be fighting as a solider in the war. It wasn't his place, or so his older brother had tried to convince him. Yet the looks men (and even women and children) gave him when they saw him walking down the street didn't help with his own paranoia. He had finally tired of trying to separate the ones of fear, with the ones that meant harm. In addition, the imperative questions of most, "Why aren't you fighting? Are you part of the Nazi Party? Where is your uniform?" He was tired of trying to explain that he wasn't part of the dreaded Nazi Party, he was lost in this insanity.span/span/p  
>p style="margin-bottom: .25in; line-height: .25in;"span style="color: #555555;"span style="font-size: 13pt;"He was currently in his parent's bathroom; they were due for their weekly family dinner. He used to love them, yet now that his brother was gone, what was the point. A stern father always silent at the head of the table; A fluttering mother always concerned about her son; A tauntingly empty seat in front of him, where his brothers bounteous laughter was missing ever since he left for war. Gilbert couldn't take it anymore; his brother was always the one who made his parents proud, not him. Even though Gilbert had been born strong and "German," he was not one to see that inflicted pain on others, and enjoy watching. He would even admit that he thought that this war was stupid. Germany was already doing badly (though slightly improved after all the debt in World War I), so what was the Führer even thinking, starting a War as if they had money to support it.span/span/p  
>p style="margin-bottom: .25in; line-height: .25in;"span style="color: #555555;"span style="font-size: 13pt;"Speaking of Money, his family hadn't really suffered the after effects of war, so he didn't earn the right to complain. Yet He was tired of his mother pretending everything was fine, that she wasn't worried that her younger son was missing in action. He was tired of his father sending rays of disapproval at him and the empty space in front of him, as if it would miraculously come to life and bring the air of comfort Ludwig did. Everyone lost something in a war, he didn't lose money, yet he lost his brother.span/span/p  
>p style="margin-bottom: .25in; line-height: .25in;"span style="color: #555555;"span style="font-size: 13pt;"He splashed cold water on his face. He couldn't keep up the appearances anymore he needed to get out. He dried his face. He had taken the decision to go to Dresden, he wasn't getting anywhere in wealthy city Baden-Baden, it was the same people, same disapproval, same memories that were killing him. In Dresden he could actually practice, his doctor skills more than in he could in Baden-Baden. Walking he came to the sudden realization that he hadn't thought how to tell his parents about this decision. They would be mad, that wasn't taken for granted, yet it was how they would react to him leaving them. Dresden was a busy city, and he had never lived alone. He considered the possibility of a roommate, yet that idea dissipated quickly, He had enough money to rent a small room by himself. He had already finished his transfer papers thanks to an younger doctor, who also knew what it was to be entrapped in your family. That younger doctor, Frederik, had served as a mentor to Ludwig all through his years of Medical School. Now all that was left was to tell his parents. As he sat down once again at the table that was now wielding some type of cake. He was given a soft nod as he sat down, by his mother. Eating the dessert, all he could hear were the soft clinks of the forks against the porcelain.span/span/p  
>p style="margin-bottom: .25in; line-height: .25in;"span style="color: #555555;"span style="font-size: 13pt;"-"Mutter, Vater, ich ziehe nach Dresden."span/span span style="color: #555555;"span style="font-size: 13pt;"(Mother, Father, I am moving to Dresden.) After he said that almost immediately, he got a reaction. He heard a loud /span/spanspan style="color: #555555;"span style="font-size: 13pt;"Clank /span/spanspan style="color: #555555;"span style="font-size: 13pt;"as his mother dropped her fork on her plate. His father quickly turned his stern face from son to mother./span/span/p  
>p style="margin-bottom: .25in; line-height: .25in;"span style="color: #555555;"span style="font-size: 13pt;"-"What?" She asked her face perfectly shocked "Why?" He would've been sarcastic as she was asking one-worded questions that weren't from the extensive vocabulary everyone talked with.span/span/p  
>p style="margin-bottom: .25in; line-height: .25in;"span style="color: #555555;"span style="font-size: 13pt;"-"I need to improve my job; I am not going anywhere while I am still here. There is barely work, I already know the system by heart, I need a change." He finally admitted, in some sort, his biggest problem. Baden-Baden was just so enclosed. Same trees, same houses… he needed a breath of city air.span/span/p  
>p style="margin-bottom: .25in; line-height: .25in;"span style="color: #555555;"span style="font-size: 13pt;"-"No! You are still too young to leave, you can't take care of yourself, and you will probably starve to death. There are thieves and they can use you…" His Mother started to rant, trying to convince him that this was a bad idea.span/span/p  
>p style="margin-bottom: .25in; line-height: .25in;"span style="color: #555555;""span style="font-size: 13pt;"Veronika let the boy go." He's father's deep voice boomed. 'He was letting me… this was a surprise. I wasn't expecting him to actually let me go.' Was all Gilbert could think as he heard his mother start to protest, yet his father held his hand up and said "He is twenty two years old; he lives by himself here and hasn't been in trouble. He can manage living in the city himself."span/span/p  
>p style="margin-bottom: .25in; line-height: .25in;"span style="color: #555555;"span style="font-size: 13pt;"It is Sufficient to say that both relatives were stunned that the father actually let Gilbert go. He thought his father would be indifferent about it and he was actually defending Gilbert's point of view. His mother glared at his father and then left the room. She was depressed that both her sons are leaving her, and the fact that one was probably dead. She couldn't take it. Left with his father Gilbert looked at the space where his mother left. "Thank you father…" he said slowly.span/span/p  
>p style="margin-bottom: .25in; line-height: .25in;"span style="color: #555555;""span style="font-size: 13pt;"Leave, just come back before you leave." Was his entire father said before turning around and going after his wife. Gilbert was left speechless before he left their house, wondering what kind of day was today that his father would defend his son.span/span/p  
>p style="margin-bottom: .25in; line-height: .25in;"span style="color: #555555;"span style="font-size: 13pt;"The Sparkspan/span/p  
>p style="margin-bottom: .25in; line-height: .25in;"span style="color: #555555;"span style="font-size: 13pt;"As time progressed, Gilbert saw that it had been around two months since he left home on a sunny November day. His mother refused to speak with him, and his father just gave him a curt nod. Not something to take back as memories yet it was all he got. It had taken 8 hours to get from Baden-Baden to Dresden, with a stop at Frankfurt. It wasn't until that train ride that Gilbert noticed just how sheltered his life had been. There weren't as many homeless people back home, just as the lack of gespato around his town and the overall lack of personalities.span/span/p  
>p style="margin-bottom: .25in; line-height: .25in;"span style="color: #555555;"span style="font-size: 13pt;"The train itself was bustling with people from all different statures. Yet most people were rude and tried shoving past him. Standing at a tall stature of 6'6, he was taller than most in that station. Most people didn't even notice him, or why he was traveling. They didn't care. That was wonderful. Back home he was seen as a freak, now he wasn't seen at all. He was already satisfied with his choice as the train ride went on.span/span/p  
>p style="margin-bottom: .25in; line-height: .25in;"span style="color: #555555;"span style="font-size: 13pt;"When he arrived at his apartment, he was surprised at the size. It was actually bigger than he imagined it. There was a Kitchen, two bedrooms, a study and a living room. The only thing that struck him as odd was that the police had to search his house as he tried to accommodate himself. Something about protocols and looking for hidden Jews, They told him it was more about orders than him being targeted and he nodded what else could he say? However, he was against the Nazi Party Beliefs, call him selfish, but he did not want to risk his life in a prison cell.span/span/p  
>p style="margin-bottom: .25in; line-height: .25in;"span style="color: #555555;"span style="font-size: 13pt;"Arriving to the hospital after his third day in Dresden, he realized this was busier. There were more emergencies, stranger ways on how people wounded up in the hospital. It was all interesting. Something he would never have seen back home. His pay was actually better back home, yet since he was still studying his specialty in cardiology, the pay was better than other places.span/span/p  
>p style="margin-bottom: .25in; line-height: .25in;"span style="color: #555555;"span style="font-size: 13pt;"He did make some friends at work, a couple of ER doctors and some nurse, yet since he also worked in the Emergency Room, he didn't have time to do anything else. His schedule was Work, eat, sleep, and work again. He didn't mind the vigorous work, yet he will admit it was a different work pace than the one back home. He wasn't one to complain, it was just an observation.span/span/p  
>p style="margin-bottom: .25in; line-height: .25in;"span style="color: #555555;"span style="font-size: 13pt;"He was surprised one day when he got to his apartment after work to find a letter addressed from Italy. It was addressed from someone called Lorenzo Lombardi. He was quit intrigued so he opened it. Inside the letter was written in German, a couple of pages long, in a familiar handwriting. Gilbert quickly skimmed through the pages, once he realized it was his brother writing to him. Yet it puzzled Gilbert as to why his brother would address himself as Lorenzo, an Italian name and not Ludwig.span/span/p  
>p style="margin-bottom: .25in; line-height: .25in;"span style="color: #555555;"span style="font-size: 13pt;"It took an hour for Gilbert to finally read the entire letter. His brother had a reason to hide all right. He escaped his Nazi duties, something seemingly unlike his proper, strict rule abiding brother, yet effective they did take him for dead, yet if they caught him, they would send him to a concentration camp). Ludwig seemed happy in Italy, he found this Italian girl who he is planning on marrying. Ludwig talked with his mother through letter and invited the family to visit him in Italy once the War was over. Ludwig told him all the marvels of North Italy, the grass, the mountains, the flowers, the sunny people, all the delicious food, and pasta. How cheerful Italy was, and how nice the people were. Though Gilbert was sure there were also grouches like in every other place in this world, he was content knowing that his brother probably okay and had found some peace in the world. He was amazed on how his brother managed to go through the filters he had described on the earlier letters he had sent.span/span/p  
>p style="margin-bottom: .25in; line-height: .25in;"span style="color: #555555;"span style="font-size: 13pt;"He knew he would eventually have to write back to "Lorenzo", yet he postponed this activity for the night, feeling exhausted. His busy hospital schedule making him feel as though the weight of the world had decided it should rested upon his shoulders. Although before he could retire, he was curious on how his brother got his new address to send him mail. He looked at the envelope again, now to notice neat straight calligraphy crossing out the previous address, and writing down his. He had no doubt in his mind such prestine calligraphy was from his father. Yet he was quick to realize that there was no further writing, just the correction to be resent. He didn't know to be relieved that there was a certain gratification that his letter was from his brother, or sadness that his father wouldn't even send some sort of message to tell him how they were back at home.span/span/p  
>p style="margin-bottom: .25in; line-height: .25in;"span style="color: #555555;"span style="font-size: 13pt;"Gilbert sighed deeply and decided that the world was unfair in that manner; he could not count on anyone, not even on his family. In the end, people will turn against you, even if you need to do this for yourself. He should say that his mother is selfish for not letting him be free, yet he could see her point of view. Ludwig had been gone for almost five years now, without so much as a letter. Then Gilbert decided he wanted to move away from home, leaving his mother and father all alone in the big house that used to be so full of life.span/span/p  
>p style="margin-bottom: .25in; line-height: .25in;"span style="color: #555555;"∞span/p  
>p style="margin-bottom: .25in; line-height: .25in;"span style="color: #555555;"span style="font-size: 13pt;"Gilbert finally felt the impact of the current war once he lived by himself in the city. Rationing and S.S. police check up of houses. His apartment wasn't really investigated, yet the rare times it was, the whole ordeal was a mess. The S.S didn't care if they would break glassware or shove entire bookcases to the ground. They were desperate to find any and all jews.span/span/p  
>p style="margin-bottom: .25in; line-height: .25in;"span style="color: #555555;"span style="font-size: 13pt;"Gilbert eventually saw a person or two disappear seemingly from nowhere at work. People would rumor saying they were some part Jewish, others would gossip that they were hiding Jews in secret rooms in their house. Now Gilbert knew why they basically broke his bookcase in half, the secret rooms. He hadn't actually known what they were until he overheard some nurses gossiping that these were rooms specifically made so people could live. Crammed, yet they could hide. Ludwig was the one who had told Gilbert about concentration camps, yet the rest of the people knew them as farms or factories where the Jewish people, or anyone who didn't appear German for that matter, would be sent to work to pay of some type of debt. Gilbert was not planning to tell anyone about those farms that apparently were slaughterhouses.span/span/p  
>p style="margin-bottom: .25in; line-height: .25in;"span style="color: #555555;"span style="font-size: 13pt;"For Gilbert at one point working, his hours collided into days, which turned into weeks that turned into two other months. Gilbert decided that it was time for a small break, asking his superior for four days off, just to rest, and cleans his apartment from the previous SS raid. All he asked were the days February 12, 13, 14, and 15. Gilbert thought that maybe on the thirteenth he should visit his family; it had been around four months with no word from his parents, so he decided that maybe he would drop in for a surprise. Probably go the thirteenth in the afternoon and return the early morning of the fifteenth.span/span/p  
>p style="margin-bottom: .25in; line-height: .25in;"span style="color: #555555;"span style="font-size: 13pt;"Gilbert had everything planned out and had already bought his tickets. He sent a note to his father a few days prior to notice him of his arrival. He had wished his father had sent a note, anything to even say that he was still welcome home. Yet there was nothing… not even his mother sent him anything. It may have been that there was no time, or maybe he was asking for something bigger than what could be given to him. He still wished for it, he would not admit it aloud, yet he felt somewhat homesick.span/span/p  
>p style="margin-bottom: .25in; line-height: .25in;"span style="color: #555555;"span style="font-size: 13pt;"Despite his fear that his parents would not be as welcoming as he hoped, on the thirteenth, Gilbert was packing his bag, it was around nine thirty in the evening. However, normally he would have been much more prepared; his apartment was much messier. Another surprise SS inspection, they were lesser inspections then when he first was here.span/span/p  
>p style="margin-bottom: .25in; line-height: .25in;"span style="color: #555555;"span style="font-size: 13pt;"He got a sudden call from the hospital, saying they needed his assistance the Emergency room was overfilling. They had not explained why they were overfilling, which worried him, yet he worked in a hospital… he could not expect what would happen. He hurried to pack, wanting to get quickly to his job, hoping that he would be able to make his train on time after work. Grabbing his coat, he ran downstairs and hailed a cab to take him to the hospital; he read the time on his watch, nine fifty. He was not that late as he expected. Then a minute passed, and all hell broke loose.span/span/p  
>p style="margin-bottom: .25in; line-height: .25in;"span style="color: #555555;"span style="font-size: 13pt;"The explosionspan/span/p  
>p style="margin-bottom: .25in; line-height: .25in;"span style="color: #555555;"span style="font-size: 13pt;"There were sirens, why would there be sirens? That would only happen if… they were to bomb the city. He guesses the taxi driver heard them as well, the cabbie quickly drove towards the hospital, it was Gilbert's destination, yet also there were cellars to protect yourself from the bombing. Gilbert was slowly processing what this meant. The allies would be bombing the city. Why would they do such an atrocity? As far as Gilbert was, concerned this city was mostly a cultural center, some factories spotted around, yet of what he knew, they were manufacturing pots and pans, kitchen utensils. The Red Cross had sworn up and down that Dresden would be of the few countries in Germany that wouldn't be bombed. He was certain of that; his doctor title wasn't just a fancy paper.span/span/p  
>p style="margin-bottom: .25in; line-height: .25in;"span style="color: #555555;"span style="font-size: 13pt;"Gilbert looked out the window seeing everyone running towards the same direction they were driving towards, the hospital. No wonder they had asked him to come in. There was an influx of people trying to get into the cellars. There needed to be some order put in this situation. They arrived in record time; a fifteen-minute ride took them nine minutes. Gilbert could see the people filling in at the doors, lucky those who lived close by. He had to weave his way through the crowd to get the meeting room where some of the Doctors were, they were strategizing how to get all of this in control. He was surprised to arrive to see that he was of the few who could arrive on time. They had as long as ten minutes to make a plan and play it out. In Less time we could all die upstairs, with more time, we could all die upstairs. It was guessing game, yet they had no clues whatsoever. They decided that young men, women ranging from teenagers to middle aged, and children were to be the first ones in the cellars. They would try to fit the rest, not wanting got leave anyone behind. It was chaos. The meeting was a waste of time, since most people ignored them, it wasn't until we had to use physical force to calm some people down did they finally listen.span/span/p  
>p style="margin-bottom: .25in; line-height: .25in;"span style="color: #555555;"span style="font-size: 13pt;"In less than five minutes, the cellars were on the verge of over filling. Gilbert was safe trying where people should be located. People just kept coming in and in, there was no true organization. Time was passing their ten minutes were up. The doctors upstairs (most) came downstairs to help try to help order, it was useless, and there was barely an inch of personal space between each person. He glanced at my watch, ten fourteen. A minute later would we hear bombs crashing on the floor above, the whole rooms rumbled with the force. People were crying, others looked in fear, some prayed for god to save them. Most hopped for the shaking to stop, yet as they realized it wasn't going to stop anytime soon, most lost hope that they would make it out alive. Some screamed, yet others did not know if it was from inside or out. Suddenly the rumbling stopped. Everyone breathed out a sigh of relief that the bombing had ended. No sooner than Five minutes later, would they hear a gently siren, someone was outside with a hand siren, then the people heard a high-pitched scream, they room shaking felt like an everlasting earthquake.span/span/p  
>p style="margin-bottom: .25in; line-height: .25in;"span style="color: #555555;"span style="font-size: 13pt;"Soon enough, after around the third attack, the air inside the cellars was thick, the fire that was blazing outside was sucking all the oxygen it could, trying to make its flames stronger. Gilbert was of the few people who knew that being near the floor would be the safest place to breathe, in case the smoke started to enter the cellars. After a few hours of continuous bombing, it seemed so.span/span/p  
>p style="margin-bottom: .25in; line-height: .25in;"span style="color: #555555;"span style="font-size: 13pt;"Later would Gilbert learn that within twenty minutes of the first bombing, the whole city would be set ablaze. What he could not begin to understand was that the bombings would last up to three days. Most of the times bombing lasted for a day, and especially if it were to be an important city, was he right? The bombing caused an inferno outside, houses burned to the stake, people charred on the ground. Mutilations ever so present. The doctors had to take turns going upstairs to check on the patients that were coming in. There were not enough supplies to help all burned bodies. Dresden was engulfed in flames. Firefighters died trying to take it out. People who were unfortunate enough to not fit in the cellars or not live near a hospital were on the ground, dead because of affixation, their bodies burned to a crisp. It is true what they say about hospitals; there is always a thin line between life and death. Yet inside the cellars, life wasn't as good. People couldn't breathe since the flames outside were providing thick fumes of smoke. Smoke that entered the cellar, which already with lack of oxygen made it harder to breathe. There was no food, only Rationed water. People were on their hands and knees for Pete's sake. Mothers were too hysterical to take care of their children. Nurses were left to babysit. Doctors would try and calm down the noise people, not wanting to make everyone else anxious.span/span/p  
>p style="margin-bottom: .25in; line-height: .25in;"span style="color: #555555;"span style="font-size: 13pt;"It was the third day of fire, they didn't even know if the allies were still bombing. Some people inside the cellar died, having inhaled too much carbon dioxide. They were left with no other choice than to throw them to the flames. No one object to the idea. It was Gilbert's turn again to go upstairs and try to help patients. However at this point they weren't as many as in the first day of flames. People were either in refugee or in dead. It was as simple as that. It was not being cruel not being a pessimist; it is the true cruel reality. If you can't take the truth, than you are in for a bit lesson about the world.span/span/p  
>p style="margin-bottom: .25in; line-height: .25in;"span style="color: #555555;"span style="font-size: 13pt;"What Gilbert wouldn't know was that on that exact day the final bombs would drop. If he would've know he could have stayed in the cellar warn everyone else, yet he did not. This took would take him to the explosion that was near the hospital. So near that in face, it broke crystal. That bomb was so close, that the impact threw Gilbert away from the desk he was currently sitting on. The force was so strong Gilbert collided face first into a glass cabinet. The blazing fire was worse with that bomb. Yet thankfully I t did not reach the hospital. Yet Gilbert wouldn't know. He was unconscious for a few days. He had no brain damage, he surprisingly did not break his nose, and the crystal did not enter his eyes. He just came out with a concussion and with a busted lip and bruised cheekbones. The bombing lasted three days, the fires lasted more than a week. Gilbert's eyesight lasted until that third day. Once Gilbert woke up from his slumber, he did not know if he had woken up. He couldn't see at all.span/span/p  
>p style="margin-bottom: .25in; line-height: .25in;"span style="color: #555555;"span style="font-size: 13pt;"The other doctors didn't know why or how he was blind. Maybe he hit his head hard enough his corneas were detached? Maybe the brain swelling bumped against his cranium and made him blind. Gilbert himself could not check himself. Yet he was oddly calm through the procedure, he did not panic when they told him he was bind. He was surprisingly calm about everything. H knew that it was a possibility after him being throwing into glass, yet most doctors feared for Gilbert. They all knew that blind… you cannot work as a doctor. They wondered if Gilbert was freaked out in the slightest. How would he live? The gossip spread through the nurses like a plague. Which in a few moments the surviving nurses had a whole story planned. Gilbert on the other hand, had no idea how to get back home, and if he did. How would he take care of himself.span/span/p  
>p style="margin-bottom: .25in; line-height: .25in;"span style="color: #555555;"span style="font-size: 13pt;"The Smokespan/span/p  
>p style="margin-bottom: .25in; line-height: .25in;"span style="color: #555555;"span style="font-size: 13pt;"After Dresden cleared up, the survivors were evacuated. Sent to different parts of Germany. The injured were trying to be tended. One of Gilbert's friends told him that he was lucky to be blind. Seeing the city of Dresden as it was, was truly something that would never make you see life the same anymore. There were charred bodies everywhere. Men couldn't be separated from women and neither could be separated by children. They were all ashes on the ground, chucks of black flesh that resembled carbon. There were mass burials since remains could not be identified. Buildings were crumbs on the ground, parks looked like graveyards, and you would think the city was the remains of Pompeii. Ashes everywhere, ghost of the fire that lit up the city in a burning oven. Lakes resembled death pools, people who had jumped in were only half burned. The few building that survived were broken, glass everywhere, painted chipped off, doors than had tumbled, cracks on walls or if not, there chucks of the building that had fallen to the ground with the remains of others. At glance, you would think a volcano had erupted and cleared out the whole town. Yet the terrifying part was that man made this chaos. This was war, everyone had to suffer, and there was never a fire in the void.span/span/p  
>p style="margin-bottom: .25in; line-height: .25in;"span style="color: #555555;"span style="font-size: 13pt;"Gilbert had to ask a friend to take him to the remains of his apartment, to see what he could salvage. He luckily did not bring anything too valuable. His friend told him that his apartment was charred to the ground. It was true, yet there were some trinkets that could be salvaged, yet it was an apartment building I could have been anyone's belongings. Gilbert knew that the only place he could go that was safe, home in Baden-Baden. He needed to learn how to be blind and alone. Something new to him entirely. He cannot do most things he used to do such as walking by him, or enjoy the view. He could barely walk out the door without crashing into the wall. Life was going to be difficult now, this was not some childish game were you could peek under a blindfold. The darkness in his mind became the actual darkness in his eyes.span/span/p  
>p style="margin-bottom: .25in; line-height: .25in;"span style="color: #555555;"span style="font-size: 13pt;"He felt that the ride home was one of the longest most uncomfortable ones in his entire life. Sights he longed to see were long gone. The he could not replace fear-ridden faces with hopeful new faces. He could never again see his brother, he could never become a doctor, and he would have to be followed around as a child. He would not be able to contemplate the sunset, nor would he be able to see the face of the people he met. The only good thing would be not seeing the glances that people sent him as he walked, he would not be able to see the disapproval on the face of his father, nor would he see the façade his mother always put up. He knew that everyone back home would feel pity, yet he actually felt quite calm about being blind. He was only worried about telling his parents since they always react differently than he would think.span/span/p  
>p style="margin-bottom: .25in; line-height: .25in;"span style="color: #555555;"span style="font-size: 13pt;"Little would he know that his parents had taken him for dead. Once they learned about Dresden, everyone thought that the whole population had died. The bombs had exploded mostly around the area he lived. It had taken around two weeks to finally be let out without being burned. Once Gilbert was at his parents doorsteps, it is needless to say that his mother though she was finally going crazy. Well that was what Gilbert's friend had told him. Though to be taken as dead was an extreme measure to take, Gilbert knew that it was truly a miracle to be alive. He did not have a religion, atheist as long as he has lived, He knew that there was a greater force somewhere and he owed it his life.span/span/p  
>p style="margin-bottom: .25in; line-height: .25in;"span style="color: #555555;"span style="font-size: 13pt;"Though his parents did react better than he expected, he knew that they would still wary of the fact that he did not know why he was blind. He though it would have been easier if glass actually was stuck in his eyeballs, it would have been easier to explain then the medical explanation that he had to give. Yet as time progressed, he eventually had to stop giving explanations. Life was eventually getting easier. He could now walk through doors without hitting walls; his parents had paid for the family German Shepard to train to become a seeing-eye dog. However, he also had to learn to walk with a walking stick. It was not easy to get to this point though it was worth it. He did not need to accompany with to do trial things anymore, such as serving him a glass of water, or go to the store to buy ink and quill. He was still learning how to read in Braille, and to type in this alphabet. Though he still did live with his parents, since it was the only place he knew how to get back to without asking for directions.span/span/p  
>p style="margin-bottom: .25in; line-height: .25in;"span style="color: #555555;"span style="font-size: 13pt;"Germany announced its surrender in May, almost three months after Dresden. This would bring an end to the suffering, though many celebrated the end of war, the Beilschmidt family did not. This war had taken a toll on all of them. They had lost Ludwig, since they never heard from him, Gilbert had lost his eyesight and been through a terrible bombing, and they had lost many properties in the East thanks to the Soviets. Gilbert decided to write to his brother, knowing that his brother had probably given up writing to him. Yet he had lost his address in Italy after the bombing, so his idea went out the window. Yet the thought of his brother reminded him that He had forgotten the tiny detail to tell his parents that his brother was still alive and he had taken up the alas of… a new name. His memory was turning a bit spotty, and he did not know the reason.span/span/p  
>p style="margin-bottom: .25in; line-height: .25in;"span style="color: #555555;"span style="font-size: 13pt;"Soon enough, the future became past, and old wounds were starting to scar and before he knew it, a year had passed after Germany's surrender. A wall was being built to separate West Germany from East, the news from the concentration camps had gone public, and with the help of North America, Germany was starting to show signs of a slow recovery.span/span/p  
>p style="margin-bottom: .25in; line-height: .25in;"span style="color: #555555;"span style="font-size: 13pt;"Gilbert was no exception. He was finally looking into buying a new apartment to live by himself; he could finally type in braille and spent his time trying to learn as much as he could. Life was improving, and they were finally getting over their losses during the war. Yet one day, as he was eating lunch with his mother, they received a surprise visit. A surprise visit that put an end to Veronika's sadness, and grieving to give her hope. A small Italian woman would finally tell the family the story about their son, Ludwig Beilschmidt.span/span/p  
>p style="margin-bottom: .25in; line-height: .25in;"span style="color: #555555;"span style="font-size: 13pt;"The Ashesspan/span/p  
>p style="margin-bottom: .25in; line-height: .25in;"span style="color: #555555;"span style="font-size: 13pt;"The small Italian women that showed up at the Beilschmidt's footsteps were Alice Lombardi, someone Gilbert could not shake the feeling he knew. Veronika could not let the women in any quicker than she did. She was anxious to know what had happened to her youngest son, hoping that he was not dead, and as if her prayers had been heard, she learned that he was not.span/span/p  
>p style="margin-bottom: .25in; line-height: .25in;"span style="color: #555555;"span style="font-size: 13pt;"Alice told them everything, from how they met, to how Ludwig was caught by the gaspato, how they tortured him and how with help of the resitencia, she helped him escape. How Ludwig had been in hiding, and changed his name to Lorenzo Lombardi, haven taken her last name to cover suspicions. Veronika, was too stunned to speak, yet the shock soon turned to sadness, knowing that her son could never vist her again without some type of repruccusion falling on him. Alice was kind enough to not say anything about how her husband could never return to his childhood home. It took twenty minutes efore Gilbert managed to calm down his pain-stricken mother. All she had left to ask the young Italian why it was until a year later that she decided to stop by and tell them his story.span/span/p  
>p style="margin-bottom: .25in; line-height: .25in;"span style="color: #555555;"span style="font-size: 13pt;"Alice told Veronika and Gilbert that she had been trying to convince Ludwig for almost three years that he should tell his family that he was alive, yet he had made the point that he would be taken back to Germany and accused of treason very clear in their arguments. Yet she felt that at this point it was finally time to tell his family. She also said he proposed to her and she would answer him until he spoke with his family. She was here to invite their family over to Italy were they lived, so they could be attend the wedding and to see their son. Ludwig still was precarious about being seen, so he decided to stay in Italy. Both son and mother were overjoyed by the fact that they would be seeing Ludwig again, after the raging war.span/span/p  
>p style="margin-bottom: .25in; line-height: .25in;"span style="color: #555555;"span style="font-size: 13pt;"Once Frank returned home, he heard the whole story with his usual stoic face. Not even the mention that his son was alive changed his expression. He did the calculations and said that in a month's time they could go to Italy, seeing it has their schedule would not be busy and that he could take a break from work. Alice stayed a few more days before returning to Italy, and the family fell in love with their soon-to-be in-law. She spoke broken german, yet that did not stop the family from conversing with her.span/span/p  
>p style="margin-bottom: .25in; line-height: .25in;"span style="color: #555555;"∞span/p  
>p style="margin-bottom: .25in; line-height: .25in;"span style="color: #555555;"span style="font-size: 13pt;"The ride to Italy was one that the Beilschmidt family quite enjoyed. The landscape was beautiful; Veronika described the scenery to her blind son throughout the whole ride. It had taken two days to arrive, with a day of rest in-between. However, the time was made up with the amazing sights of Italian surroundings and the amazing smell of Italian cuisine.span/span/p  
>p style="margin-bottom: .25in; line-height: .25in;"span style="color: #555555;"span style="font-size: 13pt;"Alice was the one to receive the family, greeting them and asking about their trip. When asked she told them that Ludwig was waiting for them at their house, yet the family was anxious to see the younger son. They took a cab to the small city that rested near a tall mountain, yet she told them that it was a long walk to where they lived. The walk was in fact about ten minutes from the center of the town, yet once they saw the small cottage planted in the middle of a meadow, they knew why the walk was worth living in that house.span/span/p  
>p style="margin-bottom: .25in; line-height: .25in;"span style="color: #555555;"span style="font-size: 13pt;"Upon arriving, the family was greeted with the sight of Ludwig quickly opening the door. The first one to greet him was Veronika, though crying she was so happy to see her son, alive and well. Following was Gilbert, who was leaded by Alice to greet his brother. Alice had warned Ludwig about Gilbert's condition, so Gilbert did not have any need to explain his situation. The last one to greet his son was Frank; the stoic man had a ghost of a smile once he saw his son. He could not act so stern once he saw his youngest son. The reunion was warm and heartfelt; all grudges had dissipated into the air.span/span/p  
>p style="margin-bottom: .25in; line-height: .25in;"span style="color: #555555;"span style="font-size: 13pt;"That night they dined as a family, eating a traditional Italian meal. Their cottage was bigger than the family had thought at first glance, having four rooms, with a living room and a dining room. It was comfortable enough for the two weeks the family would be staying, without being overcrowded. Soon after the first week, Gilbert fell in Love with Italy, and he asked his brother and Alice if they would be fine with him staying longer than the anticipated two weeks. They could not say no since Gilbert did not cause much trouble, and he could help around tending the meadow, help with the wedding plans.span/span/p  
>p style="margin-bottom: .25in; line-height: .25in;"span style="color: #555555;"span style="font-size: 13pt;"Therefore, as Frank and Veronika left, Gilbert stayed in Italy spending most of his time outside in their meadows. Ludwig spent most late afternoons with his brother, talking about the war, talking about Alice, talking about life in general. Ludwig admitted to being happier than ever in Italy. Though it was not a crime, he knew it might offend the family. Yet Gilbert did not mind, he knew that freedom was better than being entrapped in whater vice life had to offer. He was also glad his brother had escaped his usual stoic life, he had taken a risk for the woman he loved, he overcame himself, he was proud that Ludwig had managed to overcome the morals that were feed to him.span/span/p  
>p style="margin-bottom: .25in; line-height: .25in;"span style="color: #555555;"span style="font-size: 13pt;"Ludwig could never believe his brother was blind, as he had no visible scarring around his eyes. He shared that information once over dinner, earning a smack from Alice. Yet he made it his mission for Gilbert to see again. On weekends, he would take him to the market, to hear and smell all the different produce. He would take him to landscapes, meadows, and gardens. Yet Gilbert could not see. Ludwig did not give up there. Yet as months passed, Ludwig did not have enough time as before, since the wedding was coming up and he had to help Alice more with the preparations. Yet on the last day before the wedding, with Alice at her Parent's house and Ludwig and Gilbert alone in the house, Ludwig took Gilbert to Alice and his special place. This place was a thirty-minute walk from the back of their house. Gilbert protested the thought, since it was the couple's private intimate spot, yet Ludwig would not hear any of it. He said that the place was the most beautiful place to see sunset in Italy. Arriving, the sky was preparing for the pink hues. Ludwig sat Gilbert down on a rock and started to speak. First, it was about unimportant stuff, later into stories of the war. Yet somehow, it morphed from war into the story of how he met Alice. It was something like love at first sight, though Alice loathed everything Ludwig representedwhen they first met. Ludwig made her his challenge and she had him chasing he. It was something magical. How one day Ludwig convinced Alice to give him just one chance and if she did, he would never talk to her again. That date went extremely well for both, yet Ludwig had kept his promise. It was his last night in Italy. Once Alice knew she was beyond furious, he had done this just to make her a one-night stand, yet he told her that she enjoyed the date, and if their paths were actually meant to collide, somehow in all this chaos, he would come back to her. And he did, after a two years he did, and he decided to help her, to free her from what he then realized was his horrible government. He helped her Resistencia, and soon after he was captured by the allies, yet she helped him escape their torture and their interrogation. He had been an asset for various battles they had won.span/span/p  
>p style="margin-bottom: .25in; line-height: .25in;"span style="color: #555555;"span style="font-size: 13pt;"He told Gilbert that life was cruel, that war was bloody and filled with death, yet he even though he decide to not see, he realized taht There was beauty in life, such as your love, your family, a beautiful panting, and the sunset. There was so much color in life, you had to see it, and the blackness was too bleak. You need to be able to see the bad to appreciate the good. There was beauty and love, and there was also hate and awfulness, yet you could be the judge of everything you see. Yes you may not unseen the past, yet that does not mean you should not see your future. He knew that maybe life was bad, and memories were worse. Yet he wanted Gilbert to see how beautiful everything could be. He told Gilbert he would leave him alone and Gilbert thought for a while, he thought that he could have the capacity to see. He thought that maybe he lost faith in everything, yet as Ludwig spoke... He had to have faith in something. Therefore, Gilbert close his eyes and thought of the beauty of things; of his mother's laughter, of his father's smile, of his brother's wittiness, of Alice's compassion, of people's hopefulness of their relief. He thought of the sight of chocolate cake, and sunflowers, of how tall grass moves with the wind. He thought of the green mountains and the calmness of lakes. He thought of the sunset and how it marked the end of the day, how the sun dies every day to let the moon breath. He opened his eyes, and saw the glow of orange rays fill up his vision.span/span/p 


End file.
